a lack of color
by turtleducklings
Summary: She thinks of her father, and it's then that she realizes that he is not the man slumped in the wrecked mecha-tank in front of her. -— Asami Sato and moving forward.


**author's note:** oh my god asami sato. bb ur my forever gurl. way too many feels about this character.

this is dedicated to dicey (thecivilunrest) because i love her and i just want her to be in my fandoms ok.

sliiiiiight bosami if you squint with glasses on.

**disclaimer:** bryke owns everything.

* * *

Asami is five and her mother is brushing her hair. Dad is holed up in his office again, poring over new Satomobile designs, probably unaware that it's dark outside and he missed dinner.

Her mother gently runs the brush through her hair, humming softly. She sighs. "Your hair is so lovely, Asami," she says, almost wistfully.

Alarmed at her tone, Asami sits up straighter, scrambling onto her knees and turning around to face Mom, her small hands fisting in the soft fabric of her mother's skirt. "Yours is too, mama," she says reassuringly, green eyes wide.

Her mother's smile is almost as warm as her hand when she touches her daughter's cheek. "Thank you, sweetheart."

Dad is busy but Mom is here, and for now it is enough.

* * *

Asami is six and the house is burning.

Her brand new party dress is no longer the pristine white it had been hours earlier. The silk now resembles a dull gray that matches the air around her. Smoke fills her lungs and her mother's hand tightens around hers as she drags her through the smoke-filled hallway. Asami hears one of the maids screaming from somewhere behind them. She starts to cry. "Mom, I'm—" She stops talking because now she can't stop coughing. They stop abruptly and Asami watches, eyes red and wide, as her mother tears part of her own skirt off and shoves it at Asami, motioning for her to put it over her mouth. Asami nods dully and complies, and then they're running again.

"We have to find your father!" Mom yells over the roar of the flames. "We can't leave him here with—" but then her mother stops talking because a man emerges from the shadows and haze of the smoke and suddenly has Mom by the throat, his bicep bulging as he tightens his arm around her. Asami's hand is ripped from Mom's and she falls to the ground, the fancy carpet grinding through her stockings and leaving a rugburn on her knees.

"Well, look what I've found..." the man says, lighting a fire in his palm.

His smirk is like ice and Asami wonders for a brief second how a man made of flame can be so cold.

The man yells over his shoulder for someone else to come help him, and Asami locks eyes with her mother. Mom's mouth says _Don't be scared _and her eyes say _Run._

She doesn't need to be told twice.

Asami Sato loses her mother on her sixth birthday, and after she finally stumbles out of the burning mansion, she collapses onto the pavement and sobs, clutching the scrap of her mother's skirt between smoke-stained fingertips.

* * *

Asami is six and three days and her black dress is uncomfortable.

Her hair is messy because Dad was the one who fixed it this morning, hands shaking and eyes sad. After he'd finished he'd kissed the crown of her head and said, "You have such beautiful hair, Asami. Just like your mother's."

She fidgets with the hem of her skirt as they lower Mom's coffin into the ground. She knows it's empty. There hadn't been much left of her after it was all over.

Mom is smoke and white ash and Dad is gripping her hand a little too tightly, but Asami doesn't even have it in her to cry.

* * *

Asami is six and one week and her self-defense instructor is a hulking woman with kind eyes and a stern mouth.

"For your first lesson, Miss Sato, we have to see what you can do." The woman backs up and brings her arms up in front of herself, clenching her fists and bending her knees. "Try kicking me."

Asami stares, dumbfounded, for a moment before Dad clears his throat behind her and she shakes herself, holding up her arms in a poor imitation of her instructor's stance. _I have to do this, _she thinks. _For Mom. I won't be helpless anymore. _She kicks her leg out as hard as she can and—

Falls flat on her back.

The instructor sighs.

"Looks like we have some work to do."

* * *

Asami is ten and the jade hairpin is heavy in her hands.

"But...but, Dad, this is Mom's."

His smile is warm but sad. "It's yours now, Asami." He takes the clip from her. "It's been four years. You're nearly a young woman. It's your turn to wear it." He gently fixes it to her hair, pulling the long strands in the front up and away from her face. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and kisses Asami's forehead. "Happy birthday, my love."

After he leaves the room she tears the pin out of her hair and throws it on the floor, tears dripping onto the rug. She stares at it wearily for a moment before quickly crouching down and picking it back up, holding it to her cheek as bitter sobs wrack her body. She stands slowly minutes, maybe hours later, eyelids heavy and swollen, and puts the clip back in. The green of the jade is stark against the ebony of her hair, and for a moment she feels almost beautiful.

She wears it in her hair every day, after that.

* * *

Asami is thirteen and she notices that Dad still refuses to light a fire in his bedroom fireplace, no matter how cold it is in the wintertime.

This shouldn't bother her, but it does.

* * *

Asami is sixteen and she is now officially licensed to drive.

She'd already been driving for months, of course, nearly a year, but it's different, somehow, knowing that now her driving is actually legal. The first thing she does when she gets home, official papers crisp in her hand, is take her dad's newest model out for a spin, whipping fast around all the corners and gunning it down long stretches of road.

She laughs, loud and hard, when another driver honks at her, screaming something about irresponsible teenagers.

It's the best she's felt in a long, long while.

* * *

Asami is seventeen and she really likes Koji.

He's sweet and handsome, with a smirk that pulls one side of his mouth higher than the other. He tells her that he thinks she's pretty and he makes her feel it, too.

He is the one that takes her to her very first probending match.

"A new team's playing tonight, a bunch of rookies, so it should be pretty interesting," he says, ushering her into the row ahead of him.

"Yeah?" she says over her shoulder as she sinks gracefully into her seat. "Well what's their name?"

He squints at the ticket in one of his hands while the other reaches blindly behind him to feel for the seat. "The Fire Ferrets."

She smiles. "Sounds cute." He laughs at this, his brown curls quivering, and settles back into his chair as he laces his fingers through hers.

Truth be told, she does not think much of the actual game. The Fire Ferrets won, but only just barely. Koji comments that he can't see them making it very far in the season. Asami, however, disagrees.

It's the determination she saw in the captain's eyes that convinces her to buy a season ticket to all their matches. Something about it made her feel strong.

* * *

Asami is eighteen and she can't believe she just hit a guy with her moped.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid_, she thinks, inwardly berating herself. How could she have done something so idiotic and careless? She's irritatingly embarrassed, and she's about to tell the guy so, and that she's so, _so _sorry when she takes a second to actually look at him.

He's flustered and blushing, but she recognizes him almost straightaway. "Wait, you're Mako, right? From the Fire Ferrets?" She grabs his hand, gripping tightly, and it's almost disgraceful, how excited she is to meet him. "I've been to all your matches; I'm such a big fan!"

His eyes widen. "R-really?"

She nods, long hair bouncing, then shakes her head, covering her face in embarrassment. "I'm such an idiot," she says. "I'm so sorry!"

He shakes his head. "It's alright. I'm okay; no harm done." He smiles, and she feels something flutter in the pit of her stomach, her heart skipping a beat.

"Well, let me make it up to you, at least," she offers, holding out a hand to help him up. "I'll buy you dinner. Quong's Cuisine, tomorrow night, eight o'clock?"

He takes her hand and hauls himself up from his place on the pavement. His hand lingers on hers. She pretends not to notice.

He hesitates. "Quong's? I don't know if I really have anything to wear to a place that ritzy..." he trails off, blushing and letting go of her hand to rub the back of his neck. He looks down and away, and it hits her in an instant.

_Oh._

She's overwhelmed with a sudden urge to help, to mend and comfort. She shakes her head, moving her hand as though to wave away his thought. "Nonsense. I'll have it all arranged for you."

He looks almost suspicious for a moment before smiling softly and nodding. "Okay."

She smiles back. "Great." She pushes the kickstand back on her moped and hoists herself onto it, grabbing her helmet from her lap and fitting it over her head. "See you then." Then she drives off, looking back over her shoulder once.

He's smiling at her, and this, she knows, is the start of Something.

* * *

Asami is eighteen and she can't decide whether she wants to laugh or cry.

Her father is unconscious in the mecha-tank in front of her, slumped over, head lolling.

He looks so much older, this way.

Bolin's hand is light on her shoulder. "You okay?"

She thinks of bedtime stories by dim lamplight, of driving lessons, of all-nighters spent in his office, poring over new Satomobile designs. She thinks of a jade hairpin and his gentle hands fixing it to her hair.

(_Your have such beautiful hair, Asami, just like your mother's—_)_  
_

She thinks of her father, and it's then that she realizes that he is not the man slumped in the wrecked mecha-tank in front of her.

The way she felt when she finally noticed Mako and how he looks at Korra is nothing compared to what she feels now.

She steels herself and does not pull away when Bolin tentatively grabs her hand, squeezing reassuringly. She smiles at him and it's sad, somehow. "No."

She glances at her father again and does not think of the manic look in his eyes when he'd charged at her or of the awful things he'd said. She looks away and decides that she prefers to remember the Dad that signed her up for self-defense classes so she could watch out for herself and who would carry her to her bed when she fell asleep at her desk.

She leans over and kisses Bolin on the cheek in thanks, sighing. "But I will be."

* * *

Asami is nineteen and she's making a decision.

"You sure about this, doll?" The barber is fiddling with his scissors nervously, mustache twitching.

She nods resolutely. "Yes, I'm sure."

Asami Sato is nineteen exactly on the day she cuts her hair. It's been thirteen years since Mom died and seven months since she betrayed Dad.

The first _snip_ of the scissors rings loud in her ears. It sounds an awful lot like freedom.


End file.
